


Day Five: Kissing (AKA Guns are Sexy, as are Quartermasters who can FIRE THEM)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, And neither does Q, Bond doesn't want to be there, Boredom, Guns, Hacking, Kissing, M/M, Psyche Exams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has work to do, Bond is bored, and there are TOYS to play with, damn it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Five: Kissing (AKA Guns are Sexy, as are Quartermasters who can FIRE THEM)

Q dropped his head against the backrest of his computer chair and sighed. It felt like every ounce of energy leaked out with each molecule of air that escaped his lungs, leaving him puddled in his chair. His brain felt like mushy peas, honestly. The music pumping through his over-ear headphones didn’t cut even cut through the fog.

“How long do I have to work here until I get a vacation?” He pushed himself forward again and slipped the form he’d been filling out to the side for a moment. He knew just the ticket to get his mind back on track: some good old-fashioned hacking. _I wonder if I can get all the way into the CIA director’s computer again without someone catching me?_ He glanced at the small clock in the corner of his computer monitor. _And can I do it in under five minutes?_ A smile lit his face and he cracked his fingers.

******  
  
**

****

Bond slumped against the wall outside of the examination room, smiling to himself. How he managed to pass this exam would be a mystery to him. At least he hadn’t walked out on the prick sitting in front of him, and he hadn’t punched him, either. Both of those things were steps in the right direction, he supposed. His stomach grumbled at him, reminding him that the amount of greasy and fried food he’d had in the last few weeks was not appreciated in the least. The re-bandaged abrasion was aching again, and his back wasn’t doing much better from sleeping in a sitting position on the couch. _Thought the sex might knock it loose or something._ He didn’t want to wait for the damned results. He pushed himself to his feet and walked away, ignoring the sidelong glances from the technicians and Tanner as he shoved the doors open and disappeared.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he didn’t really care, either. He just wanted to get away from that hateful room. It wasn’t until he halted in front of the door leading to the indoor firing range that he smiled. _This works._ He walked into the waiting area and grabbed a generic set of ear protectors off the pegs, and went up to the desk for his glasses and extra ammo for his Walther. He stepped up to the firing lane. He was the only one there, which was odd for a Wednesday - usually agents started going a bit stir-crazy by four in the afternoon on a Wednesday if they weren’t on a mission or otherwise occupied - but he didn’t mind. He’d rather be alone here.

********   
  
  
  


“Well, that’s going to get me another note on my file.” Q leaned back with satisfaction as he finished knitting up the little doors he’d left in the CIA’s mainframe. Their sysadmin had been really on her game today, and it’d taken him ten minutes to finagle his way into their systems. He didn’t dare spend too much time inside, since she was on his arse the whole time, and he’d backed out of the little game they played. Too bad, really - he was having so much fun. Being the Quartermaster did have some downsides, after all. He smiled as an alert pinged on his personal cell phone. He plucked it off the charging pad and flicked his finger over it.

****

**MSG:**

**hope u had fun spider**

**\- trinity**

Q’s lips ticked up another notch as he thumbed a quick reply.

****

**I did. Hope it was good for you too. I do aim to please. - spider**

_**** _

He tossed the phone back down and scribbled out the rest of his reason why Bond deserved a high tech crossbow, his brain feeling much more awake, and waited for the inevitable -

His work phone buzzed on the pad. He picked it up and hit ‘Answer’. “Q here.”

“Q. We’ve talked about this.”

He smiled even wider. “I needed to clear my brain, and the best way to do it is to test the latest anti-cyberterrorism setup our friends over the pond have come up with. Though I am loathe to say -”

Tanner huffed on the other end. “Q -”

“ - it, they’ve got a good one this time. Took me a while to get in, but that’s because they managed to hire someone worth the money they pay.”

“Q!”

The Quartermaster had to bite his lips to hold back the laughter. “I’m sorry, Tanner, sir.”

“If you were actually sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing it!”

“Understood, sir. Won’t happen again.” He could hear Bill Tanner muttering under his breath about how many times he’s said that exact thing before. “I mean it this time.”

“No. More. Or you will have to answer to M himself.”

“Understood.”

“Have you tested the new ammunition yet?”

Q’s brows bunched together for a moment before he groaned. “Oh, damn it. No.”

“You forgot about it, didn’t you?”

“To be fair, we’ve all been a bit busy up until last night.”

“Yes. Which is why I’m reminding you now. M wants a full ballistics write-up by seven.”

“Of course. I just need to gather some things, then I will be on my way to the range.”

“Perfect.” The line went dead in his ear, and Q shoved the phone into his back pocket and grabbed the black case off of the guest chair next to his desk - _right there in front of me, why didn’t I see the damned thing!_ \- and his tablet, then almost ran out the doors.

********   
  
  
  


_That’s the whole box, then_. Bond rolled his neck on his shoulders and dismantled the Walther with ease. He had every intention of cleaning it and going to find something edible in the cafeteria, but the door opening grabbed his attention by the horns. He turned to find Q armed for - _well, a one man war against Russia, apparently._ The agent watched him maneuver through the doorway and nod once to the man working the ammo counter, saying something about already having all he needed, thank you very much and could he just set up four different stalls, that would be grand... Bond couldn’t help the thrill that rolled up his spine as he watched Q wrestle with a SA80, a couple handgun cases, a AS50, and a rather large case. His ear protection hung on his wrist, and he set down the boxes and guns so he could take his glasses off, hook them on the back of his shirt, and slip on a pair of custom shooting glasses. Bond could feel his pulse quickening. _Dear God in Heaven_. How much hotter could Q get?

As the Quartermaster readied the equipment around him, Bond got his answer: much hotter. Q knew his way around weapons. Bond already knew that. The man made most of the guns by hand half the time, and the other half he was tinkering with off-the-shelf ones. He deposited a gun in front of each shooting station, leaving the two large ones to the furthest stalls. Each gun was meticulously checked and cleared before the young man walked away from it. Finally, he opened the mystery box and took out a smaller container which turned out to carry bullets. New bullets. Ones Bond had never seen before. His hand fell to the counter, scant centimeters from his field-stripped Walther. The bullets were nine millimeter, of course...except there were other boxes that he could see, and those looked bigger.

Q began thumbing each individual round into the magazine of a Glock 26 he’d freed from its carrying case, and paused to make a quick note on his little tablet he’d propped up against the side of the stall. He muttered something unintelligible to himself, and jammed the clip into the well, and stood back up. Bond watched him settle into a stance, lift the gun, and fire off the whole clip in less than a minute, barely even blinking or twitching. Immediately, his finger flicked the safety and he knelt back down to make more notes on his tablet, then he stripped the gun and made even more notes while cleaning it down and reassembling it, putting it back into its padded case and moving on to the next gun. Bond resisted the urge to follow, only watching carefully as Q picked up the Browning and did the same routine with it, the recoil on the much larger handgun making the lean muscles in his arms stand out. Bond wasn’t just impressed - he was losing room in his trousers quickly.

********   
  
  
  
  


Q grinned when he got to the assault rifle. Frankly, his opinion was that you could easy use a club to beat the hell out of something; all the assault rifle did was give you distance. He sighed deeply. Hopefully the butt plate he’d installed lived up to the manufacturer’s standards. He filled the magazine, fed it into the well at the front of the receiver, and lifted it to his shoulder, adjusting slightly. Off to one side, he could hear James take a slight breath, and grinned against the stock. _If this is all it takes to turn the man into a puddle of ‘fuck me now’, I’m going to start bringing my work home with me._ He debated on whether he should beat the shit out of his shoulder on full auto and see just how dirty these rounds really were, or save himself a hot water bottle and just do it three at a time. His finger slipped forward to flick the selector to three-round burst, and with Bond’s glacial stare on him, he unleashed the devil inside the rifle. The recoil punched him hard, but he held on, keeping the scope centered and his grouping tight. He didn’t really bother aiming, but he didn’t want the thing going wild on him, either. In less than a minute, the whole clip was gone and his shoulder hurt. He blinked at the paper downrange.

“Looks like you killed it.” Bond’s voice murmured into his ear. Q leaned back, lowering the rifle until it was pointed at the floor.

“I do hope so, James. I did empty an entire clip of new Glaser rounds into it.”

“Is that what these things are?” Bond held up a bullet casing. “I was wondering what the difference was.”

“Technically, I should be testing on human analogue -”

Bond cocked his head, and Q smirked. “Dead pig.”

“Ah.” His voice was still deep and silky, the sort of voice Q was still only used to hearing either in the bedroom or over his comm, and it was doing things to his belly.

“Anyway,” he continued, “M wants a report by seven, and - AH!”

Bond’s hand had insinuated itself into the seat of his trousers, under his pants, and now was massaging his arse. “You were saying?” was all the agent said before he lowered his head and pressed his lips against Q’s, a quick peck that turned very sensual and intimate and had Q growling and pawing helplessly at Bond’s shoulders. Finally, they came up for air. Q sort of just gasped in Bond’s face as the man smirked.

“When today is over, we will be going for Italian - good Italian - and then I’m taking you back to mine.”

“Absolutely brilliant.” Q matched the smirk, even though his shooting glasses were all askew on his face. “Get back down here, you bastard.”

“Gladly.”

 


End file.
